Why do some people like to get themselves drunk?

I could never fathom exactly what it was. The incessant ringing in one's ears? The tipsy, light-footed saunter that you acquire before planting a foot in a porthole and falling flat on your crimson face? Or could it be the urge to regurgitate that perfectly sumptuous dinner you just ate? If so, wouldn't an alarm clock, really high heels and a super-modeling stint do the trick?

I was always wondering, until I had myself inebriated the other day.

It's the feeling of doing whatever you feel like doing. See that tap? Turn that sucker on! Want to put that plastic dinner utensil through a friend's dinner? Go for it! Feel like calling everyone on your contact list and just repeating everything they say? Do it just after 9 pm when those free minutes come into play! How about eating that flurry, cotton-stuffed animal you've been eyeing? Sink your teeth into it, because it's high time somebody ate that 'Christopher Robin'-yelping, honey-gluttonizing bitch of a bear.

It's disconnect from reality, consequences, and all of that societal rubbish. It's having the courage to do anything, despite what happens the following morning. It's getting a splitting headache and parched mouth, yet knowing that a few hours before, you were the king of the world.

And it's knowing that no one's gonna blame you for anything.

It's human nature to need affirmation.

Perhaps I've forgotten how much I dislike clubbing. A nerve-wrecking medley of loud music, deafening thumps that make your insides queasy, hard liquor and the claustrophobic feeling akin to being a sardine in a tin can. But I digress, because essentially concerts possess these very same elements, and yet they are a-w-e-s-o-m-e.

Stupidity at it's best: if it wasn't good the first three times, why would the fourth be any better?

I loathe the inconsiderate shoving, the bad manners, the throwing up, the sleazy mess. Worst of all, I hate the superficiality. It's a place where you pay to enter, only to feel emptier when you leave.

It's another lesson learnt, which brings me closer to realizing that the next time, or the one after that, wouldn't be the charm. I'll stick to my cup of coffee/tea from now, thank you very much. Moreover, after tonight, I think I deserve to affirm the delight acquired from doing something I truly enjoy.

I'm feeling home-made chocolate chip cookies :)

To only dream makes one a fool.


But what's a fool to do, but dream.

Disconnected by flight,
for years.
By an ocean so vast.
By hasty resolve.
By twist of fate.
By hands of time.

And how might a single thought,
plummet one into such contrasting polarities.
Yet lies homogeneity among difference,
conviction among incertitude.

You find situations so incendiary,
but with vestige of serenity.
You make decisions with doubt,
and wish for the best.

So best it be,
through a forest of faces,
a fostering of friendships,
comes a budding sense of reconnection.


It feels good to be home. Really good.